


Insecure (Don't Know What For)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [53]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Insecurity, Not a crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-11-06 23:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: For a long time, Angela has admired Fareeha's confidence—first noticing it in a press release by Helix Security, a pretty little piece of propaganda, Fareeha spinning a concussive rocket idly between her fingers while she talks, then throwing a well-timed wink at the camera when she tosses it only for it to land perfectly in her armor—and by now has come to expect such things.  There is nothing wrong with a woman as successful as Fareeha, as beautiful as she, as charismatic, being a little cocky.  In men, such confidence is always considered warranted.Or,Sometimes, Angela worries that she isn't interesting enough to be dating a woman like Fareeha Amari.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gloriousdownfall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloriousdownfall/gifts).



> im so sorry for this title i swear this fic is actually not crack but its 3am and i was like HEY THATS WHAT MAKES U BEAUTIFUL & also i was talking abt harry styles having four nipples (he does, its called polythelia!) and like. yeah. logical next step i guess

Before ever meeting Fareeha properly, Angela is aware that she likes to show off.  She does not mean this badly, is not judging, simply knows that Fareeha likes to be _seen_ , likes for people to know she is competent, she is talented, she is attractive.  Such is not a bad thing; when it comes to her work, at least, Angela has often been the same way, although that tendency, that cockiness, has decreased with time, was greatly dampened by the fallout from Overwatch’s collapse.  So certainly she is not judging when she observes that Fareeha likes to show off, even if, unlike Angela, that desire extends beyond just her work, she is simply observing.

She has been observing it for years—first noticing it in a press release by Helix Security, a pretty little piece of propaganda, Fareeha spinning a concussive rocket idly between her fingers while she talks, then throwing a well-timed wink at the camera when she tosses it only for it to land perfectly in her armor—and by now has come to expect such things.  There is nothing wrong with a woman as successful as Fareeha, as beautiful as she, as charismatic, being a little cocky.  In men, such confidence is always considered warranted.

(Angela knows that firsthand, witnessed the change in the way that others responded to her own surety about her work before and after she transitioned.  It was expected, when they thought she was a man, but now?  Now they accuse her of playing god, call her arrogant.  Neither is true.  For this reason, she tries not to judge other women for being self-assured.)

Even so, such confidence, such a desire to be _seen,_ is sometimes inconvenient for Angela, now that the two of them are in a relationship.  Had Fareeha her way, they would be far more public in their displays of affection, would be far more open about being together than Angela is comfortable with, would be the sort of couple who are nearly inseparable from one another, Fareeha’s arm around Angela’s shoulders and lips at her ear, just at the right time for a camera to capture them in that moment.  Angela knows she ought to be flattered—from Fareeha, that is a high compliment, is a sign that she is _proud_ of Angela, wants to show her off for the world—but really, it mostly makes her nervous.

For what reason, she cannot say; Angela loves Fareeha, has no particular desire to _hide_ her love for Fareeha.  It is only that she does not think that other people need to know, either.  What should it matter to others, who do not know them?  What about her life should be any business of theirs at all?

Often, she worries that she is _too_ private for Fareeha, who only hides the things of which she is ashamed.  When she voices such thoughts, Fareeha reassures her, tells her that she understands where Angela is coming from, even if she does not feel the same way, and that ought to be that, ought to be enough for Angela to remind herself, when she worries, that Fareeha does not feel slighted by such a difference, that it will not cause any problems between them.

And it _is_ enough, for a time.

(Nothing could ever make Angela stop worrying _entirely_ , it is in her nature.  On the job, she is confident, because there, life and death are in her hands, but off-duty?  Angela knows far too well just how little control she can actually exert over her life, and just how easily and often things go awry.  Always, some part of her will be waiting for things to go wrong, and although Fareeha is very reassuring, is more so than anyone else could be, because she is always so earnest in everything she says and does, that is not enough to stop Angela from being anxious entirely.)

It is enough, until it combines with another of the things Angela is insecure about—sex itself. 

Before she and Fareeha became a couple, it had been nearly a decade since Angela was last in a relationship, overworking and Overwatch’s collapse and her mood contributing to an overall lack of desire—and that does not bother her, really, is mildly embarrassing to mention, at worst, but is not something of which she is _ashamed._ But she cannot deny that Fareeha has a good deal more recent practice and experience than she, and has had more _adventurous_ sex, as well.

So she worries, sometimes.

(Admitting that feels a bit silly; as a doctor, Angela thinks of herself as the sort of person who ought to be past being _ashamed_ about anything related to sex.  Yet even after reading over the health histories of thousands of patients—their sexual histories included—and knowing that she is not so much of an outlier as she feels, that neither she nor Fareeha is, she cannot help but be insecure, sometimes, and then be insecure about her own insecurity.  Of all the things she might worry about, sex is surely the most trivial.  What does it matter, really, how many partners she has had, particularly in the face of the very real dangers she is confronted with every day?  But knowing that something is not worthy of being worked up about and actually dismissing one’s anxiety are two different things.)

At her core, Angela is a very boring sort of person, one who likes routine, and is risk averse, and that has always suited her well; careful trials and experimentation have yielded results, and more than enough interesting things happen _to_ Angela for her to go seeking any more out.  Why would she want more adventure, when she spends her days in combat zones and in the wake of natural disasters?  Simple pleasures have always been enough for her, what entertainment and mental stimulation she requires her job provides in excess.

That is all well and good—if it makes her happy to eat at the same time each day, to wear the same style of clothing day in and day out, to not meet any more new people when she feels her social circle is already full, it hurts no one—except that now, in a relationship with Fareeha, Angela is not only setting a routine for _herself._ When she cooks the same foods, when she goes the same places, when she talks to all of the same people, it is not only _her_ life that is affected, but Fareeha’s as well.

Fareeha is not, in Angela’s estimation, a boring person at all.  She takes risks, if she thinks they might be interesting, is always open to trying new things, makes new friends wherever she goes—even her wardrobe is more exciting than Angela’s.  And that is the source of a good deal of worry, for Angela.  Is she too boring for Fareeha?

The evidence would suggest she is not, since the two of them have been together for nearly three years now, but unfortunately rationality does not prevail over Angela’s emotions nearly as often as she would like.

Fareeha is _exciting,_ has brought a good deal of both joy and adventure to Angela’s life, and so she cannot help but fear, sometimes, that she will bore Fareeha.  After all, she knows that there are things Fareeha has done that she would never even consider, if left to herself.

Some of those things are very small, trivial matters.  Fareeha colors her hair, so that that the black will shine blue in the right light, rather than its usual warm brown, and Angela realizes that she has never considered dyeing her own hair, has no desire to do so—but she thinks Fareeha’s looks lovely.  Fareeha rides a motorcycle, and Angela declines to join her, citing the old statistics about fatalities, as if her own advances in the medical field had not greatly improved the survival rate of those in serious collisions.  Fareeha tries eating a ghost pepper with Lúcio and Jesse, and Angela declines to join them, not at all curious about how it will taste—it will be painfully spicy, and she knows she will not enjoy the experience.  In all of these cases, it does not matter if Angela declines to participate, because Fareeha can still do what she likes independently, but there are some cases in which she feels her own adherence to routine hinders them both.

Given both the fact that Fareeha is the more adventurous of the two of them, and that she enjoys showing off, it should not be a surprise when an off-color joke from Genji about his own past leads to Fareeha inadvertently admitting that she and a previous paramour experimented with public sex, and that she did, in fact, enjoy it.  Lúcio says that he tried the same, once, and enjoyed it, but is far too famous to consider the risk of doing it again to be worth it, it was _fine._ Fareeha argues that it was more than _fine_ , and the risk is half of the fun.  Angela frowns.

Certainly, she has never considered trying such with Fareeha.  In fact, even knowing that Fareeha is interested is not enough to dissuade her, even if she feels badly that Fareeha is very clearly missing out on doing something she would like to by virtue of being in a relationship with Angela.

The thought nags at her for a week, for two, for three—not the idea that she is not a sexually fulfilling partner for Fareeha, specifically, but that her own worries, her comparative lack of adventurousness, of self-assuredness, means that Fareeha is not enjoying the life she _could_ be, with someone else.

Certainly, Fareeha meets her needs, but does she meet Fareeha’s?  That is another question entirely, and one she cannot shake.

Naturally, she broaches the subject at one of the worst times. 

They are not in their quarters, or somewhere off-base together, or even in her MedBay, where she might, at least, have some control of who comes and goes.  Instead, they are on the shooting range which—yes, is currently blissfully empty save for the two of them, given that they need to block out time to work on flight maneuvers lest they fall victim to a stray bullet, but—anyone might, theoretically, enter at any time.  Few people in the world would argue that it is the appropriate venue to have a highly person conversation about the state of one’s relationship, particularly if that conversation involves sex, and certainly Angela does not _intend_ to mention anything, but she does.

They are having a difficult time in perfecting a maneuver that Fareeha has proposed—or, rather, _Angela_ is having a difficult time, and Fareeha is executing it perfectly nearly every pass—and Angela finds herself rather more worked up over the mistakes than she might usually be.

In and of itself, frustration is not a problem; it is normal, is natural, is expected that, from time to time, one or both of them would be less calm than usual, would be more short-tempered.  If Angela took out her frustration on _Fareeha_ , that would be an issue, but she does not, will not, could not, even, because her anger is focused decidedly inwards.

(It usually is; Angela is a perfectionist, and always has been, and she takes her failures very seriously.  How could she not, when in her profession mistakes cost others their life?)

When Fareeha notices her annoyance, her stress, the way she responds to a request to go again not with optimism but with an assertion that this time will probably not go any better than the previous several dozen, her girlfriend is not angry with her, is concerned, if anything. 

“Is everything alright?” Fareeha asks, “You seem more keyed up than usual.”

Of course, Angela is, and not just because todays drills have been aggravating.  So she answers perhaps a bit _too_ honestly, says, “I feel like I’m holding you back.”

“What?”  It makes sense that Fareeha is confused, given that she has not the greater context for the statement, but Angela feels badly about that, too.  She should be clearer.  “I mean,” says Fareeha, “It’s been an off day, for sure, but that happens, right?”

“Not just _now_ ,” Angela says, “In general.”

“In general?” Fareeha sounds even more confused, now, and removes her helmet so that they can better see eye to eye.

“Yes,” Angela is struggling to find some way, _any_ way to say this without it sounding ridiculous, “Not just today but—” But how to explain? “You’re an interesting person, Fareeha,” Angela starts again.

“Thank you?” Fareeha says, but it sounds far more like a question.

“No that’s not—it is a good thing, but the problem is I’m not.”

“Not good?” Fareeha is not following.

“Not _interesting_ ,” Angela says.  “You go out, and you try new things, and you meet new people and I—I don’t.  And I don’t want to.”

“Okay?” Fareeha sounds uncertain.  “Is this an argument?  Because I really don’t see what I did wrong, or even what the problem is, and if we _are_ fighting this probably… isn’t the best place.”

“No!” Angela practically shouts it, and the wings of her Valkyrie suit flare in response to the outburst.  Immediately, she modulates her volume, “No, I’m not trying to fight you, and you didn’t do anything I just…. You’re interesting, and I’m not.  And I worry that I’m not doing enough for you.”

“Is that all?” Fareeha’s eyes squint slightly in confusion, and the shape of her tattoo ripples with the movement.

“I—yes?”  Does there need to be more?

“If I felt like I needed something, Angela, I’d tell you,” Fareeha takes a half step closer when she says this, drops her helmet to put a hand reassuringly on Angela’s shoulder. 

“Would you?” Angela wants to believe Fareeha—she is guileless, and she sounds so very earnest—but she knows, too, that sometimes Fareeha downplays her own needs too much, and even if she _did_ want or need more from Angela, would not allow herself to think about it enough to ask for it, would see it as optional or unimportant.

“Of course,” Fareeha says.  “What even brought this on?  Because if I did something to make you feel like—”

“You didn’t!”  Angela insists, “You didn’t do anything.  It’s me who isn’t doing enough.”

(Not just for Fareeha—for everyone.  She can never shake the feeling that no matter how much she does, it is not enough to save all those who need her.)

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“It’s just—and this sounds ridiculous, but—do you remember that conversation with Genji and Lúcio about public sex?”

“Uh,” Fareeha seems to search her mind for a moment, “Vaguely?”

“Well obviously that isn’t something that I’m—that I’d ever—I’m not interested.”

“Right,” Fareeha says, “Considering that you don’t like _holding hands_ in public, I could’ve guessed as much.”

(That is another issue entirely.  Fareeha has assured her time and again that she is okay with waiting until Angela is ready to be out, but it is not easy for her, and if they start to talk about that Angela knows they will never get around to addressing this.  Later, they can bring it up again.  Maybe one day, Angela’s answer will actually change.)

“But _you do_ like that sort of thing,” Angela says, not letting herself get sidetracked.  “And with me, you don’t get to.  And it isn’t the whole of it, obviously, but it made me think about just _how many_ things that you do that I don’t. Won’t?  Can’t.  And I just—I feel like I’m holding you back, and that you deserve a partner who will do those things with you, who wants to—”

“Angela,” the hand that Fareeha has placed on her shoulder migrates up to her face, metal of her gauntlet cold against Angela’s cheek, “Breathe, please.”  She obliges.  “It’s fine, alright?  It’s fine.  If I wanted to be with someone else, I would be, but I like being with you, okay?  You don’t have to do anything else.”

“But you seem so much happier with other people,” Angela says, “And more confident, too.  And I know I’m not really either of those things, a lot of the time and—I don’t want to bring you down.”

“Oh habibti,” Fareeha makes as if to hug her, for a moment, but seems to think the better of it, likely realizing what a difficult prospect doing such is made by the fact that they are both still in full armor, “I’m not less confident when I’m around you, I’m just more comfortable being vulnerable.”

Hearing it, it makes sense, for it is hard to imagine that anyone could be as confident as Fareeha is all the time, but somehow it never occurred to Angela that Fareeha’s showiness might partly be an act.

“I didn’t realize,” says she, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?  It’s a good thing.”

“Yes,” Angela agrees, “But I _did_ make a rather big deal out of nothing.  And publicly!”

“Well,” Fareeha says, “It’s just further proof that you don’t have to worry about being too boring for me, isn’t it?”

“Very funny,” Angela replies, flatly.  Both of them know that this is not the sort of excitement she meant.  Nonetheless, it is nice to hear, again, that she is not too boring for Fareeha, nice to know that their differences do not make Fareeha unhappy, nice to know that she is not the only one of them who acks confidence, from time to time.

“Let’s get back to drills, shall we?” Fareeha’s voice interrupts her thoughts, once again taking her usual cocky tone, with a smile to match.

Well, it is nice to not _always_ be the only one of them who worries, but she must admit, the confidence Fareeha displays on the job is still decidedly sexy.

Maybe they can work their way up to the public sex thing.  Maybe they can start in the locker room after this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting fic on my lunchbreak like a responsible working adult

Early on in their relationship—perhaps even before it, when they were still at the nebulous in between of neither friends nor lovers—Fareeha noticed that Angela was bad at asking for things.  Oh, when she feels it necessary, she can argue, can demand with the best of them, can ensure that her voice is heard, her opinions known, her ultimatums met, but the problem is that Angela only seems to feel that such is necessary when she is advocating for _other people_ , and not when she wants something for herself.

As their relationship has grown stronger, Angela has gotten better at setting boundaries, at trusting Fareeha, trusting their relationship—and herself—enough to put her foot down, when necessary, but for the most part, she does so when things make her uncomfortable, and not when she wants something.  Of course, there are ways in which she makes her desires known, if indirectly, ways she has of hinting at what it is she would prefer without outright saying that she wants Fareeha to do something differently, or wants for the two of them to try something, but still, she very rarely makes requests, and Fareeha worries, often, that she will miss something, that if she were, somehow, not meeting Angela’s needs, that she would have no way of knowing, and then where would they be?

(Perhaps this concern is not so much about Angela, after all.  Fareeha’s previous relationship ended abruptly when she proposed, with the revelation that her girlfriend of two and a half years was, in fact, planning on leaving her, and had been for some time, feeling that Fareeha put her career above their relationship, and so Fareeha worries, now, about something similar coming to pass.  While Yasmin was not wrong, necessarily, Fareeha _did_ love her, and she worries, now, about doing the same, worries because although she loves Angela, for both of them, their careers will always come first, and it is possible for that to be taken the wrong way, possible that Angela will not know just how much Fareeha loves her, that she will not realize that she is a priority in Fareeha’s life, even if her duty is the greater priority.  If she could miss the demise of an entire relationship, with Yasmin, who did not hesitate to ask things of her, what might she miss with Angela?)

Things always _seem_ to be going so well between them that it is easy, at times, to forget, easy to think that because they so rarely argue, that things are going perfectly.  But, still, Angela does not often ask things of her, does not expect her to change—and Fareeha wonders, is Angela happy?  They are living together, now, and although moving in went well, for the most part, it was difficult for Angela to put to words _why_ she needed for certain things to stay in certain places, why she needed their bedroom to not be filled with bright colors as Fareeha would have liked, why she kept so much extra non-perishable food stocked up, and why Fareeha could not dispose of it to make more space.  All of her requests were reasonable, in the end, tied to trauma and to anxiety and her emotional health, and Fareeha worries.  If Angela struggles with that, with putting words to things she undoubtedly _needs_ , how well can she be doing at expressing her wants?

Naturally, things come to a head for the most ridiculous of reasons, both because Fareeha is unwilling to broach the subject herself, not wanting to put Angela too much on the spot, and knowing that if she brings up the problem in the wrong way, that even if Angela did need something, she would likely say that things were fine, because it would seem like what Fareeha wanted to hear, and because things _seem_ to be going so well, there is never quite a right time to bring it up.  They are happy, both of them.

At least, it seems so.

If Fareeha were better at this, better at knowing what it was that troubled her, specifically, and at finding the right time to have such a conversation, rather than waiting for it to come up organically, then perhaps they would be spared the awkwardness of the conversation that follows Angela walking in on Fareeha masturbating.

Well, the ensuing conversation would _always_ have been awkward, but it might not have worried Fareeha so much. 

What happens is this: they do not talk about it, at first.  They have greater concerns, at the time, and it is uncomfortable, certainly, because they are arguing about something at the time—and they are much more focused on resolving that, but then, several days later, once that has been resolved, Fareeha feels the need to bring it up.

“I don’t do it often,” she tells Angela, because why would she?  They are happy together, are in a dedicated relationship, and their sex life is more than satisfying.  She wants Angela to know that she is happy, as things are, and that she was just horny, that one time, and they were arguing, but it is not indicative of some larger problem.

“I wouldn’t care if you did,” Angela reassures her, “I do.  Regularly, in fact.”

“Oh,” says Fareeha, and rather than asking _why_ , asks the first question that comes to her mind, “When?”  How much time could Angela possibly have—they live together, and Fareeha has never noticed.

“During your morning run,” says Angela, and then with a wink, “It’s cardiovascular activity, too, and a lot more fun.”

Well, Fareeha supposes she cannot argue with that, and she does not want to ruin the mood, so she does not ask the question that is really on her mind: is Angela so unsatisfied with their sex life?

It is possible, of course.  Although she certainly seems satisfied enough, she admitted, once, to having faked an orgasm, because she was tired, and wanted to sleep, but had not wanted to ruin the mood, or led Fareeha to question why it was that she was suddenly so disinterested in sex.  But that was an isolated incident, and they have talked about it, since, about what specifically was troubling Angela at the time and the importance of her communicating her own needs and wants, and not using sex to fill other holes in her life.  That is behind them, surely.

Logically, Fareeha knows that the set of circumstances that led to that incident have not been replicated in the months since, and that Angela sets more boundaries now, and certainly _seems_ to enjoy their sex life, growing more comfortable with initiating and, yes, talking about things she would like to try, even if in a roundabout way.  But still, she worries.

Has Angela been unsatisfied this whole time?

Provided past partners did not lie to her, Fareeha is _good_ at sex, good at the unique sort of communication, vulnerability, and dexterity it requires.  But she knows, too, that being good at sex in general does not necessarily mean that she satisfies Angela’s needs, in specific, and the more she thinks about it, the less certain she is that Angela would tell her, if she were not enjoying herself as much as she could be.  After all, Angela seems to consider sex and sexual compatibility a much lower priority in relationships—and life—than most people Fareeha has known, and while that is far from a bad thing, Fareeha does not necessarily understand that position.

For Fareeha, intimacy is an essential part of sex, is the primary reason why she enjoys it, and although that intimacy can come in the form of dep trust between friends, as well as from being lovers, she needs to know her partners well.  More than anything it is because of this that Fareeha is troubled by the fact that Angela might not be sexually satisfied.  If Fareeha is missing that, then what else might she not be noticing? 

 _Do you feel comfortable communicating your needs to me?_ is not the sort of question one can just ask, however, not the sort of topic one can broach in such a way, because it sounds as if one expects a particular answer, is asking for reassurance, and necessarily because they want to know the truth.  And even if Angela _did_ understand that Fareeha genuinely wanted an answer, if the truth is that she does not feel comfortable asking for things, she likely also would not be comfortable bringing such up, even given an opening.

So Fareeha does not ask her that.  Instead, she finds herself returning, again, to the thing which made her wonder about this in the first place.  Certainly, it is an awkward question, _Do I satisfy you, sexually?_ but it is no more so than the other question, and lends more opportunity for honesty than the former.

So that is what she asks, one evening, the two of them on the couch, not having made it as far as the bedroom, Angela lying on top of her, the heat of her body a pleasant contrast to the cool air on Fareeha’s slightly sweaty skin.  “Was it okay?” asks she, sounding considerably more insecure and less eloquent than she did in her head, the many times she has imagined how this conversation might go.

“What,” Angela asks, voice teasing, “I haven’t stroked your ego enough for one night?”

If Fareeha were not so genuinely concerned, she might say that Angela had seemed more interested in stroking _other_ things, but instead she frowns, says, “I mean it, Angela.”

At that, Angela pushes up off of her chest to look her in the eyes, wrinkles appearing between her eyebrows as she considers the situation, “Did I not seem to be enjoying myself?” she asks, “Because it was good—more than just good.”  A pause, her nose wrinkling, “We might want a pillow for the couch, though.  I don’t want to hit my head against the armrest so hard next time.”

“Sorry,” Fareeha says, because even if Angela had hit the armrest entirely on her own, it _was_ Fareeha who had suggested the couch in the first place.  “We can definitely get a throw pillow.”

“Good,” Angela says, “But that doesn’t answer my question.  Why ask now?  Unless,” she frowns more deeply then, “You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“I did!” Fareeha insists, as vehemently as one can whilst still pinned beneath one’s lover, “Don’t worry, I did.  I just—I’m worried that I’m not doing enough for you—um, sexually, that is.  I mean, you’re obviously not satisfied, so…”

“What makes you think I’m—” Angela tries to stand up, forgets her pants are still bunched around her ankles, nearly loses her balance before righting herself, with the help of a quick hand from Fareeha, “Why don’t I seem satisfied?” she asks, arms crossed almost defensively, seeming not only confused but also very hurt by the suggestion that Fareeha might be, in some way, not doing enough for her—as if that were _her_ fault, not Fareeha’s.

“Well,” Fareeha says, a bit more uncertainly now, “You _did_ tell me you masturbate regularly.”

“What?” Angela asks her, “That doesn’t mean I—I don’t masturbate because I’m _dissatisfied_ , Fareeha.  It’s just a habit.”

“Oh,” says Fareeha.  “But then why w—”

“Wait,” says Angela, “Do you _not_ masturbate?”

“Not really?”  Now Fareeha feels a bit self-conscious, and wishes they had had this conversation while clothed, “I mean, when we’re separated for a week or two, maybe, but otherwise I don't really feel the need to.  We have a pretty fulfilling sex life, I think.  For me, at least.”

(In all of Fareeha’s previous relationships, the serious ones, she was not aware that either of them masturbated that often, if at all.  Maybe she was just naïve to assume as much, but when she’s in a relationship she does not really feel a _need_ to do so.  Oh, she considers it, sometimes, when she is putting something off, thinks about using it as a distraction, but she does not usually—she rarely goes through with it, and never really sets out with the intent to do so.  And she feels guilty afterwards, too, as if she has done something wrong, somehow, even though she knows that she has not.)

“Right,” says Angela, “But masturbation isn’t _sex_.  I don’t masturbate because you’re not fulfilling me.  It’s just that… sometimes I’m horny when you’re not.  Or sometimes you wake me up when you’re going out for a run in the morning, and I want to fall back asleep, and orgasm helps.  Or because I _like_ to, because it makes me happy, and it has decent health benefits, too.  None of that is about you—well, except the bit about you waking me up.”

“So you’re not dissatisfied?”

“No,” says Angela, “And I still don’t know why you think that—don’t you think I’d tell you, if I weren’t?”

From her tone, it is clear that she expects that Fareeha will say yes, will reassure her that _of course_ she knows Angela would speak up, if something were wrong, because she and Angela have the kind of relationship where they try to be open with one another, to be honest, and not to hide when they need something—but she does not feel that way, necessarily, knows that it has been hard for the both of them to learn to ask for help when they _need_ it, when it is something that they could not do without, so why would she assume that Angela would not struggle when asking for things that she wants?  Why would she assume that that would come easily, when Angela so rarely asks even for the things she needs, has trouble putting to words the things she requires of Fareeha? 

Her silence must linger for a moment too long, because Angela continues, then, “You don’t, do you?”

“Well,” says Fareeha, looking up from her spot on the couch to meet Angela’s eyes, “Not really?”

Although she knew this was not the answer Angela wanted to hear, she did not expect that Angela would seem quite so _hurt_ by the statement—Fareeha did not mean badly by it, did not intend it as an accusation, but as an expression of concern.  She wants Angela to feel _happy_ with her, and knows that sometimes, it is hard to be so, to learn to exist within a relationship and to rely on someone else.

(After all, Fareeha, too, has struggled to learn to be vulnerable with Angela, even if she wants to be, and although she feels comfortable relying on Angela now, for the most part, it was difficult, in the beginning, to express her needs, to put to words that she needed _help_ and to believe Angela would not think less of her for it, when so much of their job is built around strength, on seeming to be resilient, and decisive.  It is a different kind of strength, learning to rely on someone, and although they have managed to fight to that point, to learning to be open about what it is they need, Fareeha is not going to assume that along with that will go expressing their _wants._ )

“Why?” Angela asks her, “What am I doing wrong?  Am I not,” she frowns, reconsiders the question, “Do you think I’m ignoring what you want?”

“No!” says Fareeha, “No, I’m very happy, and I don’t—it’s been a learning curve, of course, learning to let myself _need_ you, but I’ve never had any problem telling you what I want.”

“Then why do you think I’m unhappy?  Why don’t you trust me to be honest about my feelings?” Angela seems genuinely concerned, and Fareeha wishes she had not brought this up, or at least had thought through, first, what it was exactly she wanted to say.

(Never mind that she did agonize over this conversation beforehand, and no amount of arguments with herself in the shower prepared her.  There is still, always, the feeling that she might be doing more.)

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Fareeha says, “I do, of course I do.  I just worry, you know?  Because you had enough trouble telling me why you couldn’t go see a movie with me, and that was something you really _can’t_ do.”

“That isn’t—” Angela starts, but Fareeha is not done, yet.

“I don’t want to assume everything’s fine, when maybe it isn’t.  We promised to be honest about our _needs_ , not the things we want, and I know in the past I’ve—Well, I know I put work first, a lot, and I’ve missed things in the past.  I just don’t want to screw this up, Angela.”

“You’re not screwing anything up,” Angela reassures her, bending awkwardly so they are more at eye level with one another, and taking Fareeha’s hands in hers, “You’re not.  I don’t know who told you that you work too much, but I probably work too much, too, so I wouldn’t be happy with anyone who _didn’t_ spend most of their time helping others.  And maybe I’m not the best at saying what I need, but that’s because I have trouble putting those things to words in general, not because I have trouble talking to _you_.”  She pauses, and when Fareeha does not add anything, continues, “I don’t say that I want things often because I’m happy the way things are, alright?  Not because I’m afraid to ask you.”

“You’re certain?” Fareeha just wants a bit more confirmation, for her own peace of mind.

“Yes,” says Angela, “I’m very happy,” and then, a small frown, “If a little cold.  You really couldn’t have waited until we had more clothes on to bring this up?”

“Sorry,” Fareeha says, “Sex reminded me.”

Angela seems to remember, then, what specifically Fareeha was so concerned about, because she says, “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of a lecture about the medical benefits to masturbating by bringing this up.  Because you really _should—_ ”

“Okay,” Fareeha says, “Okay.  We can talk about it after we shower, right?”

“We _will_ ,” Angela says, with such certainty that Fareeha wonders how she ever worried about her girlfriend speaking her mind, when Angela can be so very determined.

Not that Fareeha minds, of course.  They are happy, both of them, and she very much is looking forward to asking Angela to demonstrate her points.  At length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i leading up to writing a mutual masturbation fic? maybe. it could be hot. but anyway...
> 
> heres this. bc pharmercy won my most recent twitter poll. again. when i stop adding them to polls its over for u all... but til then u can vote @euhemeria on twitter
> 
> (jk jk i have way too many wips abt them to quit adding them to polls bc i have a Lot left to write)
> 
> lmk ur thoughts... have a great day... & etc

**Author's Note:**

> this isnt actually complete theres a second chapter but like HHM im marking it complete bc 1) this can stand alone and 2) idk when ill get around to that so. yeah
> 
> hope u enjoyed... now i can return to serenading ppl (joana, whom i gifted this fic to) w 1d over discord... at 3am... hell yeah


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